Insanity
by NocoCakes
Summary: One-Shot of Mike. Taking place in season 5 (TDAS), he seems to be broken without the other personalities. This is a fanfic taking a place on his psychological well-being.


Any other night, I find myself tucked inside of my own bed, possibly off into a dream world filled with the face of my friends… Any other night, the other personalities would be gather around the table, and Vito would be correcting Svetlana's terrible English grammar once more. Their conversations would be audible to the outside world as I slumbered peacefully.

Oh, how I wish this was any other night.

On this night, I am plagued with something far more terrible. I'm dreading the day that Duncan finds out where he knows me from. It's the thing that is keeping me awake. Of course I'm fatigued, but the troubles that are weighing on me like a ton of bricks are causing me to become an insomniac tonight. Sleep does not matter at this moment. Nothing really matters at this moment.

I just want the others to come back.

I've been sleepwalking again, and this hasn't been an issue since I was 7. I used to break things back then, too. I swore that I didn't do it, but the series of dreams that accompanied such a thought was all the evidence I needed.

But, there are others that break things, or more so people, if you've ever watched the show known as Total Drama. It couldn't be me. Not again.

I can hear the _tick-tocks _coming from the watch Duncan had stole. They get louder with each passing second. Sooner or later, I can hear a voice… It speaks to me, and I can hear it. Its whisper makes its way into my ear. _Guilty…. Guilty…. Guilty…. _

I, now curled up into a ball and in a corner of the cabin, become slightly alarmed at the sound. Is it Duncan playing a trick on me? It sure sounds like him. My big, brown eyes grow larger as they focus on his bed. He seems to be asleep at first, but a snort proves that he is, indeed, sleeping.

I can feel my body quiver from the cold seeping in through the cabin's cracks. It should phase me, but once again, it is not important to me. Part of me wishes that Chester would complain, at least in my mind, but there's no trace of him to be found. I can hear the tiny voice grow more intense with the _guilties_. The voice has changed from a higher pitch to a deeper, more malevolent tone. The voice sounds familiar.

It's my father's. I thought that he was dead. I made sure of that in that dream. We had a funeral for him. I was there. What was he doing back…? _Guilty. Guilty. Michael, you are guilty, _his voice roars. I flinch, hoping that he wasn't in the room. My mind, it flashes back to that day.

I remember him laying in a pool of blood. My eyes are wide, and I look at myself in the mirror that is in my parents' bedroom. I am soaked with crimson liquid. And yet, on that day, I am proud of myself accomplishing a murder. No more pain, not from him.

He's back now, however, and he is haunting me. I can feel the room growing smaller. It takes all I can do to breathe. I can't breathe. He cannot lock me in here. Not now.

Not again.

To prove to myself that I'm free, I quickly run to the other side of the cabin and dash out of the door. The forming dew and the semi-firm soil make my feet cold. I can't help but hear the voice following me. _You're guilty. You killed me. Now, I'm going to kill you. You think that you can run away from me? You've got your priorities screwed up. _I'm scared for my life as of now, and even the idea of Chester coming back has made its way on the bottom of my desires. I just want to escape this voice. I want to escape my past.

I want to escape being myself.

The voice follows me into the shower house, which has bathroom stalls in it as well. Running into the stalls, I begin to answer my father. "No! No! Get away from me! You're not going to ruin my life anymore! Not now, not ever!"

I hear him chuckling. It's as if I could see him smiling. _I am a part of you, and you, a part of me. Do you really believe that it's that easy to separate each other…? Michael, you are just as stupid as you were when you were 7. _

I lock myself into the stall. A tear flows down my face, and I can't help but let out a sob. I find myself sliding against a wall of the stall, wishing that this was all over. Why was this happening to me? I didn't deserve this. My psychiatrist said so. Perhaps she was filling my head with useless information, like some therapists do. I sit there, and I have no reason to leave the shelter that separates me from my father. The sobs from myself become louder in an attempt to drown out the voice that is now screaming at me. I hold my head in my hands, and find myself rocking back and forth.

The noise comes into an abrupt silence as I hear a voice that somehow drives the other one away. It comes from beyond the stall door. "Dude, are you OK?"

It's Duncan. He probably woke up from the door leading to the cabin slammed shut. I manage to scramble to my feet and unlock the bathroom stall's door. My eyes, which are most likely bloodshot and watery, hold contact with his teal eyes. I let out a small, shaky sigh. I do the most childish thing in the world at that time, but it makes me feel so much more secure. I wrap my arms around him in a manner so tight that he can barely escape from my grasp.

"Hey, what gives?" he mumbles.

"I thought he was g-g-going to kill me," I repeat over and over.

He then realizes why I look so tired and scared. "Flashback?" the punk inquires. "My cousin has 'em all the time."

I didn't answer. I just cry on his shoulder, which is lower than mine. It seems silly to have to confide emotionally in a person who was deemed as a protagonist at first, but I find it relaxing. Someone understands me. Someone kind of knows where I'm coming from.

"C'mon. Let's go back to the cabin," Duncan suggests. He leads me back into the cabin, and we talk until sunrise.

Everything appears to be OK… At least I think.


End file.
